


Noctuary

by primela



Series: Off the Court [2]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Assassins & Hitmen, Hurt and comfort, M/M, Oikawa is the worst, Swearing, sneaky sneaks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-18
Updated: 2020-05-18
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:48:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24260833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/primela/pseuds/primela
Summary: As assassins, their job is to do what their hirer entails, and then they get paid. This mission had an emphasis put on discretion, hence why the pair don’t just slam the door open or pick the lock to the room; that would leave evidence of their presence, and they’re supposed to be ghosts tonight.And ghosts they shall be.(Or, your two favorite assassins are on a mission that goes terribly wrong.)
Relationships: Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru
Series: Off the Court [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1751227
Comments: 12
Kudos: 61





	Noctuary

**Author's Note:**

> hello yes, more assassins au bc i have adhd and cant write anything without fight scenes lol. i know that my editing on this is shit but let me have my moment.

“Oh, Hajime!” a voice sing-songs from Hajime’s right, and had he not recognized the whining lilt of that voice, a knife would already be embedded in someone’s heart. “Don’t ignore me! I know you’re mad, and I know I messed up, but can’t we move past that?”

Hajime whirls on Oikawa, voice hushed in a tone the other isn't capable of. “I’m mad at you because you tracked the location of a NASA employee and almost broke into their apartment! And what was the reason you gave me?”

Oikawa looks sheepish, but Hajime knows that the man has no regrets about his actions. With a pout, Oikawa says with downcast eyes, “Because I wanted to know if the aliens really were behind the disappearances a week ago.”

Seething, Hajime looks at Oikawa incredulously, cuffing the back of his head and turning back toward the more important task at hand. Oikawa whines next to him, “You brute! I said I’m sorry!”

“Now isn’t the time for this,” Hajime says, looking Oikawa up and down pointedly. Oikawa looks at his own attire like he had forgotten the near-suffocating amount of weapons strapped to him in black, tight clothing that accentuates his lean body, and Hajime scoffs.

Sensing Hajime’s irritable mood, Oikawa surrenders, “Okay, fine, I’m  _ really  _ sorry.” The apology is clearly said only for Hajime’s sake, but it’s better than Oikawa making excuses, so he accepts it. 

“Let’s go then. Room 1789 is our room, 1687 is our target’s.”

“Right, got it,” Oikawa replies, and if Hajime didn’t know any better, the assassin sounds much more upbeat now. Damn drama queen. 

Yet Hajime still finds himself with a half-smile plastered to his face.

Their room is spacey and modern, illuminated by dimly-lit lights obviously meant to set the scene for whatever would occur in the pearly-white sheets. In Hajime’s opinion, high-end hotels like this one are enormous wastes of money, but he supposes once you reach a certain amount of wealth, another two million yen isn’t so much of a big deal anymore. 

Oikawa, however, seems to love the place. “Hajime, why can’t we stay in places like this? Our job is so much harder than these people’s!” Oikawa’s complaining again, and if it were their first mission, Hajime would have felt a strong inclination to slap him. Somewhere along the line, though, that constant irritation shifted into a begrudging fondness.

“Because we don’t make enough to throw it away on these hotels. If you wanted this hotel room, you should’ve gone into business.”

“Well, business is boring,” Oikawa says with a smirk, throwing a leg up on the sofa to stretch, securing the blades hidden beneath the fabric. Hajime looks away and opts for his own inspection, touching the array of blades sheathed at his side and mourning the loss of his guns. He hates being without them, but it wouldn't be a stealth mission if he used one, and just knowing of its presence on him will tempt him. 

Once everything meets his approval, he looks back up at Oikawa, who’s staring at him with an unfamiliar unreadable look. Oikawa doesn’t avert his gaze at Hajime’s strange look he shoots him, folding his arms and eyebrows creasing in… frustration? 

Suddenly uncomfortable, Hajime clears his throat. “Let’s get a move on, I want to get home sometime soon. Check the cameras.” What might sound like a rough order to most is done eagerly by Oikawa, who (at last) directs his attention elsewhere, rummaging through a duffle bag on the sofa. 

He pulls out a tablet, and with a few taps and swipes, feed of a dark hotel room is pulled up. Hajime hurries over to get a better look, and he’s never been so happy to have invested in night vision cameras. Their uses, when properly snuck into the correct place, are priceless.

There’s a huge lump in the bed, pudgy face relaxed and drool leaking out of it. Oikawa’s nose scrunches in what Hajime assumes to be distaste, and Hajime notices a woman nestled into his side, bare skin on display along with… multiple other parts.

The feed is closed by Oikawa, who says, “Well, he’s asleep. Now’s the time to strike, huh?”

“Yeah, let’s go.” And with that, Hajime opens the balcony door, a stinging cold already sinking its fangs into him. Oikawa trails behind him, immediately rushing toward the edge of the balcony and looking over it. 

“Wow, sure is a long way down, Iwa-chan!”

“Yeah, it’d be terrible if someone pushed you.”

Oikawa peels himself away from the edge with a shiver, and Hajime wonders if it's from the cold or his threat. His eyes are comically wide, and he shuffles away from Hajime, who snorts.

It’s Hajime’s turn to look over the edge now, but not to admire the faint lights of passing cars. No, he’s scouting for the balcony of their target.

As assassins, their job is to do what their hirer entails, and then they get paid. Simple enough, right? This mission had an emphasis put on discretion, hence why the pair don’t just slam the door open or pick the lock to the room; that would leave evidence of their presence, and they’re supposed to be ghosts tonight.

And ghosts they shall be.

“Two-hundred yen you wake up our target when you land,” Oikawa purrs, earlier grievances forgotten, and Hajime smirks smugly. Oikawa drops at the confident look, and he scrambles to find a way to take back his bet. “Wait, Iwa-chan, I didn’t mean it! Let’s just drop the bet-”

“Nope, you already said it, dumbass. I hope you can manage the money,” Hajime says before swinging himself on top of the narrow railing lining the balcony. He makes a point not to look down when he propels himself to the balcony beneath the one next to their own. 

The crisp air bites him along with the bizarre feeling of freefall, but he doesn’t allow nature to pull him to the ground and lands with a roll to distribute his weight. And, of course, the entire maneuver is near-silent.

Oikawa follows shortly behind him, his landing as flawless as Hajime’s. Years of training will do that to someone, and Oikawa has a bad habit of overworking himself to the point of passing out in the training gym after practicing move after move after move. One thing Hajime has picked up over their partnership is that Oikawa will leave nothing to chance.

One time, amidst Hajime’s long lecture about not overexerting himself after he found Oikawa asleep in the training center, Oikawa had said something that stuck with Hajime: “The one who is better will win! That’s why I have to be better, Hajime.”

He was right, but Hajime still punched him. 

And now, those hours of hard work shine through in Oikawa’s trained movements, and Hajime can’t help but compare the way he moves to a leopard on the prowl, prepared to pounce.

“Two-hundred yen, later,” Hajime hisses quietly, and Oikawa doesn’t get the opportunity to respond before Hajime is at the sliding glass door, pulling it open carefully so as not to make any noise. He’s grateful that the idiot inside forgot to lock it.

The curtains obstruct his view of the bed, but he’s confident that the target’s asleep if the incessant snoring tells him anything. 

The profile for the target is fresh in his mind, all sorts of details, both relevant and irrelevant, making their way to the front of his mind.

_ Hisashi Tanji  _

_ April 13, 1957 _

_ Age 63 _

_ 261 lbs _

_ CEO of Hisashi Enterprises _

_ Targeted for reasons unspecified by the hirer. _

__ He filters through the extensive information he memorized prior as he pushes the curtains ever-so-gently aside, shuffling past them on silent feet.

The scene isn’t any different from the one they had witnessed on the feed; a large man with a woman naked at his side. What’s new is the scent of alcohol that gives Hajime a confidence boost. If his nose isn’t lying, then Hisashi probably had a wild night. Exhaustion must have plagued him at the end of the night - he’ll sleep through the entire thing like a baby.

Oikawa is a constant comforting presence behind him while he fully enters the room. They had studied the layout before; the same as their room, except the bed and bathroom are on the opposite side. Easy enough to memorize.

He pulls a long, freshly-sharpened blade from its sheath on his side as he nears the sleeping man, snoring effectively masking the sound of it being drawn. Oikawa stands behind him, watching the rest of the room while Hajime does the actual assassination.

The blade hovers over the chubby neck of the man, ready to slice a neat cut that would conclude sixty-three years of living - all of it, meaningless in the face of cruel silver and the man who wields it.

But then, the full weight of Oikawa Tooru is slammed into him. 

He grunts in surprise at the interruption, crushed beneath his partner against their target, knife just barely missing an extremely startled naked woman. The man beneath him jerks awake just as Oikawa rolls off of him with a grunt, and Hajime is on his feet in an instant, analyzing the scene.

Oikawa is wrestling with a huge man on the ground, knife clattering to the ground and kicked away from him. Pushing shock aside, Hajime prepares to go in for the tackle when he himself is tackled.

He’s rammed to the ground with a crash, bringing down a vase from the nightstand with him, and the glass shatters. His dagger is knocked from his hand upon impact, flying under the bed and disappearing into the abyss, but he’s pinned beneath a beefy man and can’t quite reach it.

Using only pure instinct, honed through years of getting his ass handed to him, Hajime grabs his attacker’s arm and flips him onto his back, turning the tide. He climbs atop him hastily, digging one knee into the man’s stomach and an elbow nearly cutting off his airflow.

With a gargled noise, the man flails about, eyes bulging while Hajime strains to keep him down. His head whips to Oikawa - a habit he’d picked up long ago - and is relieved to see his partner has regained the upper hand, though his eyebrow has been split open. Oikawa lands a punch on the man hard enough that there’s a crunch, and Hajime knows that Oikawa put extra force into the blow as vengeance against the stitches he knows are inevitable. 

“That’s for the face shot,” Oikawa hisses, and Hajime smirks.

Shallow bastard.

The struggling beneath Hajime’s unrelenting elbow turns to desperate thrashing when he puts more pressure on the meaty throat, nails clawing at his arm, raking angry red lines down it, but Hajime had learned long ago how to ignore pain.

And grim satisfaction fills Hajime in the same way it has so many times before when an enemy’s fight begins to leave - a tell that Hajime had won.

“Release that man or you’re going to have to watch this pretty one’s throat spill onto the carpet, and the carpet’s expensive, so I don’t really want to do that.”

The voice isn’t the playful tone of Oikawa’s, but the deep, unfamiliar rumble of a predator who has pounced on his prey. 

Terrible fear floods him, ice-cold and searing all at the same time. Hajime only hesitates a moment before allowing the man to breathe, raising his hands in surrender and taking in the dreadful sight.

The only positive is that the man Oikawa had been originally attacking is sprawled on the ground, neck jutting at an unnatural angle. However, the knife held to Oikawa’s throat cancels out the pleasure of the defeated enemy, a lithe, gangly man that Hajime has never seen before wielding it with a steady hand. The bob of Oikawa’s Adam’s apple brushes the steel, and he shudders, sending ripples of infuriation through Hajime.

Thankfully, his partner appears to be in good shape, save for his bloody eyebrow and a few stray cuts, but otherwise okay. He shoots Hajime a look that is an apology and reassurance wrapped in one. Hajime gives him a furious one of his own, but the anger isn’t toward Oikawa.

The man who Hajime had almost killed wheezes beneath him, catching his breath in jagged gasps that sound awfully similar to someone’s dying breath as their throat is slit. Or maybe he’s just thinking that because of the thin line of blood dripping down Oikawa’s neck where the blade is digging into his smooth skin.

No, Hajime scolds himself, keep a clear head. It’s awfully hard to do when his partner is being forced to get on his feet with the fear of imminent death via slashed jugular. Hajime grimaces at Oikawa’ wince when he stands, shifting his weight to one leg. So maybe he has more injuries than it seems.

The man beneath him must have finally regained enough awareness to shove Hajime off of him, scrambling away with a terrified glint in his eye. Good, he should be scared of Hajime. He supposes that the wrath written on his face would be enough to scare off most.

“Now that that’s settled, we’re going to have a nice, long talk, okay, Hajime?” 

Whirling at the sound of his name on an unfamiliar tongue, he sees that they’ve moved to the couch - the man seated on it, looking relaxed like he’s having a drink with his friends. Oikawa is at his feet, sitting between the man’s spread legs, looking like he’s one moment away from snapping the man’s neck, knife be damned.

But Oikawa can’t leave Hajime here. He hopes that the other understands that enough to not do anything irrational.

“How do you know my name,” Hajime deadpans, not daring to move, hands still raised. 

A crooked grin, barely visible in the dark. “Your faces are out there for enough money, though the pictures certainly don’t do you two justice. Especially this one.” Oikawa’s head is yanked back roughly, and Hajime flinches, already on his feet when he’s halted. “I thought I said we’re talking. I don’t think talking involves you moving around, Hajime.”

His name is said like a weapon as sharp and real as the dagger pinning Oikawa in that uncomfortable position, held there by a hand and silver. Hajime reluctantly accepts who has the upper hand here, and Oikawa strains against the hold ever-so-slightly to look at him, but the iron grip in his hair pulls him back harshly. “Move again and I’ll slit your throat so that your little boyfriend has to watch.”

Hajime growls low in his throat, and he isn’t sure whether or not he’s grateful for being ignored. 

“My name is irrelevant, but you can call me… King. Just like our Grand King right here. We’re two of a kind now.” A pointed tap of the knife on Oikawa’s bloody throat, muscles pulled and trembling from strain. There’s no doubt in Hajime’s mind that the position is extremely uncomfortable, if not bordering on painful, for his partner. And that the man - King - doesn’t care.

King watches Oikawa’s pinched face for a moment longer, his tongue darting between his lips and face ravenous for a split-second before releasing the relentless grip. Hajime feels anger like he’s never felt before watching Oikawa take a whistling breath, minding the knife.

“Let him go,” Hajime says, voice heavy with menace, but he doesn’t move a muscle. Doesn’t risk it.

“Ah ah ah, we’re talking first.”

“Can we talk without the knife at my throat?” Oikawa’s voice surprises King, and a chuckle slips out of him. Hajime is just relieved that Oikawa’s smartass remarks have made an appearance.

“Unfortunately, that’s a no. However,” a hand trails down Oikawa’s cheek, and it takes everything in Hajime to not rip that hand right off, especially when Oikawa stifles a flinch. “I like it when you talk. I like that fire you have, it’s rare where I was trained. That being said, talk out of turn again, and…” The knife, once again digs into Oikawa’s neck, drawing more blood than before. 

Hajime runs possible scenarios in his head, searching for one that could get them out of this mess, but all of them end with Oikawa’s throat a tattered mess. Judging by the somber look on Oikawa’s face, he’s come to the same conclusion.

“So, are we done now?” King says, and neither of us responds. “Good. My offer is a simple one, and it will even benefit you guys!” Hard to believe, watching Oikawa’s shallow breaths, careful to not skim the blade even more. “We’re cut from the same cloth, y’know. We’re both assassins, except I’ve been hired by Mr. Hisashi over there.” 

Hajime had nearly forgotten about the entire reason they came here, and he spares a glance at the bed. Hisashi is sitting up on the bed now, watching the scene unfold with smug, beady eyes. It seems that the alcohol was a ruse, and Hajime wonders if that naked woman is in on this scheme, but upon finding her peeking out from behind the bed, he dismisses it.

“See, he wants me to get you two to work for him,” King drawls, “but I have other plans. I want you two to work for  _ me _ , not him.” Well, Hajime certainly didn’t expect that, and neither did Oikawa, whose eyes widen considerably.

Hajime doesn’t want to take his eyes off of King again, but he hears the squelch of a knife being buried into flesh accompanied by a strangled noise, then nothing, and he sees that the man he had failed to kill finally decided to get back in the game. So, everyone’s in on the plot save for Hisashi. He almost pities the man.

Almost, but his job was just done for him, so not quite.

“Now that’s done, how about you consider? You’re both infamous for your work - the Great King and his subject.”

“He’s not my ‘subject’,” Oikawa hisses, and Hajime wants to slap him out of terror.

“Shut up, Trashykawa,” he says, voice low with a slight waver. 

“Yes, I agree. Didn’t I say I would slit your throat if you spoke?”

“You won’t,” Oikawa purrs, feigning confidence that only Hajime can see through. “Because if you do, then Iwa-chan over there is going to rip you to pieces, and you’ll have no shield with me dead on the floor.”

There’s a tense moment where Hajime isn’t sure what will happen, and his hand hovers over one of his many knives sheathed on his belt. Then, the grip on Oikawa’s hair is tightened, and Hajime’s forced to stay calm, forced to shove away the violent images of what he’ll do to that hand once they escape. 

King snickers, the noise wrong in his throat, and says lowly, “You’re clever, Tooru.” Once again, the name cuts Oikawa deeper than most weapons, and his attempt to shy away from the blade is thwarted by the iron grip in his locks. “Perhaps too clever. How about this? If you talk, I’ll send one of my assassins to Aoba Johsai and kill that new recruit of yours that you constantly exploit and have do rounds. Kindaichi, was it? I’ll paint him red.”

Oikawa pales, and Hajime figures that he looks the same. He has to remind himself to stay calm and think logically. Aoba Johsai is well-hidden from the public - there’s no way King knows where it is. It’s understandable that he knows who Kindaichi is if he got a hold of the profiles of Aoba Johsai members, which would explain how he also knows their names and how many rounds they do.

Hajime doesn’t say it aloud, though, because King fixes him with a knowing glare and taps the knife on Oikawa’s throat - a promise if he didn’t keep his silence. Oikawa looks pissed, but he keeps his mouth closed.

“So, back to what’s important. Ultimately, what I’m trying to say here is…” King’s eyes darken, tongue darting between his lips as he looks Hajime up and down. “If you don’t join, I’ll kill him, Hajime.”

And that probably scares Hajime more than it does Oikawa. He swallows the rising emotion and says, “I’ll kill you right after. I’ll make it slow for you, and you’ll scream.” His voice is thick, and King finally seems to take in the threat that Hajime is.

Why do they want Hajime over Oikawa? Oikawa is much more infamous for his work than Hajime, despite them being a pair. ‘The Great King’, many called him, and he’s more than worthy of the title.

King smiles sickly. “I’d expect no less from you. However, if you do agree to join, I’ll let him join with you. We’re just an assassin guild, really. I just want my services to be the best around, and you fit my standards for what an assassin should be. Tooru here is a little iffy. Sure, he’s pretty famous for executing difficult assassinations, but without you, he would have failed a million times over. He doesn’t deserve that kind of support, but my men do.”

Hajime is beginning to see red now, fingers twitching over dual sheaths. Oikawa’s face is a mask of calmness interrupted only by the occasional wince or grimace. “That’s not true.”

“Whether you believe it or not, it is. Now, tick-tock, tick-tock. Time’s running out for your decision.” And Hajime knows from the slightly insane glint in King’s eyes that he won’t hesitate to slice Oikawa open.

Hajime has never felt so useless, with Oikawa completely at someone else’s mercy. Should he join? He could never betray Aoba Johsai like that, but right now, he doesn’t seem to have much of a choice. Aoba Johsai isn’t much to Hajime without Oikawa in it.

“Iwa-chan, if you join this offbrand me I am going to kick your ass! He’s threatening my life and you’re considering joining him? Are you-” 

Oikawa is cut off by King’s seemingly-endless patience snapping, and he slams the butt of the dagger into Oikawa’s temple so hard and fast that Hajime barely has time to process it: all Hajime sees is Oikawa slumping bonelessly in an enemy’s grip, that blade that kept him trapped releasing him and putting out of fatal danger, and he moves.

Hajime’s daggers are in his hands, molded to his palms like extensions of his limbs. The only sound is a deafening silence, save for the air rushing past him when he strikes as swift as an adder. His dagger is right at King’s neck, a hair from ripping open his throat when he stops dead in his tracks by the feeling of cold silver against his neck.

“Checkmate, Hajime,” King says, eyes looking up at him, brimming with a bizarre mix of irritation and confidence like though this isn’t in his plan it’s still handled efficiently. 

But Hajime doesn’t care about that. He cares only for Oikawa, who’s splayed on the ground beneath them, who Hajime can’t look at unless he wants to risk both of their lives. 

And that just makes him angrier. 

He may be holding two blades, but with his life threatened, he won’t risk using the unused one to kill King. In death, knee-jerk reactions aren’t uncommon, and Hajime isn’t willing to see who’s faster.

Hajime feels a hand wrap around his wrist, bony fingers infinitely familiar to him, and he wishes he could slouch over in relief. 

Oikawa’s okay. Well, okay enough to be able to silently communicate with Hajime, tapping his fingers rapidly against Hajime in a familiar pattern - Morse code.

_ D-i-s-t-r-a-c-t. _

Hajime finds it difficult to suppress his cocky grin. Oikawa’s planning, plotting, and when that mind of his sets to work, there’s no stopping them; the Great King and Ace of Aoba Johsai. King’s an idiot for underestimating them. 

“You thought out every detail, predicted every outcome, huh? I’ll hand it to you, Aoba Johsai is never this efficient - I’m the only real strategist there,,” Hajime says against the dagger.

King drinks in the compliment, allowing it to go straight to his head. “I did. I even told my extra guards to stay out of this, haven’t you noticed? The other one disappeared after offing Hisashi. Consider it proof of my newfound trust for my newest recruits.”

If King believes that he can handle Oikawa and him, then he’s even dumber than Hajime thought. Still, he forces himself to not laugh at the absurdity of it all. “I underestimated you guys. Between you and me, Oikawa drags me down. Without me, he’d still be a low-level hitman living from job to job on the streets.”

Something like pleasure radiates in King’s face, lips curling in a self-satisfied smirk illuminated by something sinister. “I’ve noticed, but it’s strange that you admit it so willingly when, moments ago, you looked like you wanted to tear out my throat.”

Shit, was Hajime’s act too obvious? Oikawa has always been the one to go undercover when their job calls for it, not Hajime, so pretending to be someone he’s not is foreign territory.

Hajime is saved by a hand forcing itself between the blade at his neck, prying the metal away from him. King startles at the sudden movement, slicing the palm open, and Oikawa hisses in pain before jamming one of his knives into King’s heart.

An eerie silence falls over the room when King slumps over on the couch, his death soundless and swift - it’s more than he deserved. All Hajime can see is Oikawa’s pale face when King dragged a hand down his cheek, head pulled by to expose his neck by his hair.

“That wasn’t part of the plan,” Oikawa says, and Hajime looks at him. He’s still on the ground, but he’s picked himself up enough to lean against the couch, blood trickling down his face from both his split eyebrow and where the hilt of the dagger broke skin.

“That’s an understatement,” Hajime says, reaching for Oikawa’s bloody hand. The cut is deep; it will undoubtedly need stitches. For now, he rips off a part of his shirt, exposing a sliver of his midriff, and ties it tightly around the palm, blood staining both of their hands red.

“Iwa-chan, I love it when you’re nice to me,” Oikawa hums, though it sounds forced. 

Hajime faintly recalls his partner’s feeble attempt to limp when King had first threatened him and asks, “What happened to your leg?”

Oikawa winces, like by mentioning the injury he had rekindled its pain. “It’s just my bad knee. When that one guy crashed into me, I landed on it weird, then it wasn’t given time to rest.” Hajime nods, and before Oikawa can protest, he grabs the fabric bunched around the injured knee and cuts it smoothly, careful to not graze him.

It’s difficult to check just how bad the wound is in the dark, but Hajime’s eyes are adjusted enough to make out the swollen, purple skin. He curses, and Oikawa grimaces when Hajime’s fingers prod at him. “I’m not a petting zoo, Iwa-chan. You’ll have to wait until the bedroom for that.”

“Shut up,” Hajime says seriously, concern taking the shape of anger. “You were almost killed. This isn’t a time for jokes.”

Oikawa looks slightly uncomfortable at Hajime’s irritable mood, but surprisingly, he doesn’t say anything else, save for sparse grunts of pain when Hajime touches a particularly tender spot. 

“Can you walk?” Hajime questions, thumbing a line of blood away from Oikawa’s temple. He nods against his hand, and Hajime’s touch lingers on his face, tracing the spot King had only a few minutes prior, washing away the lingering vileness of someone else touching Oikawa like this.

Hajime’s hand is reluctantly removed when he stands, extending it right back to Oikawa, whose face looks slightly darker than normal. He grabs the limb, and rather than standing up on his own, Hajime pulls him, slinging the arm around his shoulder without any protest from Oikawa.

Well, one protest, but not for their proximity. “This mission was supposed to be top secret. We have to clean up the corpses and that one guy. That girl got away though.”

“You’re only saying that because you don’t want to kill an innocent.”

“You’re right - I don’t.”

Hajime sighs. “I don’t want to either, and I never will. Anyway, I’ll come back and deal with this all later. Right now, we’re getting you back to the hotel room and patched up. Nobody that matters is coming back here until morning. Worst comes to worst, the guy I almost killed comes back and takes King’s corpse, and that deals with that mess.”

They stumble toward the door, and Hajime prays that there are no lingering guests in the halls. 

Luckily, everyone is either passed out in their rooms, passed out somewhere else in the hotel, or still down at the bar and casino, granting them safe passage. Hajime hopes to use the elevator, but Oikawa refuses vehemently with the valid reason that the risk of being spotted is too great.

Ultimately, Hajime agrees, but that doesn’t make the journey up the stairs any less agonizing. Hajime practically carries Oikawa up the stairs, and the fact that he doesn’t protest is a testament to the pain he’s in. 

The room is just how they left it, and thankfully, the bed is near enough to the door that Oikawa doesn’t have to suffer much more. Gently, Hajime lowers Oikawa onto the plush sheets, and for Oikawa, the relief is instant. His face doesn’t relax upon taking the weight off of the leg, still scrunched in pain, but a few lines smooth out. It’s not enough.

Without thinking, Hajime reaches for Oikawa’s face, tracing the lines on his face that shouldn’t be there in the first place, and his rage for King is sparked once again. He’s heard of tunnel vision - saw other people experience it, multiple times directed at him - but that was the first time he’d experienced it. It was a miracle he had held himself together long enough for Oikawa to take action.

“Stop thinking so hard, you’ll get wrinkles.” Oikawa’s voice pulls him from his thoughts, and a hand clasps over his own, grounding him. 

“Sorry,” he murmurs, pulling his hand away. Oikawa protests, reaching to snatch it back, but Hajime continues, “I need to get you ice. We have to get that swelling down so we can get out of here..”

Oikawa doesn’t look as happy as he should for someone whose injuries are about to be dealt with, a pout showing just how dismayed he is. Hajime doesn’t let himself fall victim to his thoughts again and hurries back out into the hallway, leaving the door cracked.

The ice machine is much too loud for Hajime’s liking, but he still fills a provided plastic bag enough that it would cover Oikawa’s knee, then ties it tightly. When he gets back to the room, clicking the door shut, Oikawa is in the same position as before; lying on his back, sweaty locks sticking to his forehead, eyes screwed shut.

At the sound of the door closing, Oikawa’s head jerks up, then relaxes with a quick scan of Hajime. “I was starting to think you’d left,” he huffs jokingly, and Hajime glares at him.

“I wouldn’t leave you, Shittykawa,” he says seriously, anger lacing the words. Oikawa should know this by now, and if he doesn’t, then Hajime will slap him.

Oikawa looks taken aback, mouth falling open and eyes widening. Hajime ignores him, grabbing bandages from the duffel bag and then tossing it aside. 

He sets to work on the injured knee, setting the ice on top and wrapping it with bandages, looping the leg tightly. Pressure and cold therapy are crucial in getting swelling down, and that’s his biggest priority right now.

“Hey, Iwa-chan?”

“Hm?”

“The room’s spinning.”

Of fucking course it is. Why wouldn’t the goddamn room be spinning for him?

Hajime is on Oikawa in an instant, face inches from the latter’s, inspecting him closely. “Shit,” he murmurs, “your pupils are different sizes.” Now, looking at Oikawa, how didn’t he notice the dazed staring, the fall onto the bed? That dagger had made him lose consciousness for at least a few seconds or else he wouldn’t have been so boneless when he fell.

Stupid, he’d been so stupid to ignore Oikawa’s injuries. If he had just kept an eye on Oikawa, this wouldn’t have- 

“Hey,” Oikawa says, gripping Hajime’s chin, forcing him to look in those resolve-filled eyes. “It’s not your fault, I didn’t say anything about my head so you wouldn’t worry. You tend to mother-hen.” But he’s worrying now. “Iwa-chan, if it’s anyone’s fault, it’s mine.”

Hajime can’t hold back from snapping, “Shut the hell up. You didn’t do anything wrong, it was just a surprise. They set that trap just for us.”

“No, they set it for you,” Oikawa says with a frown. Hajime notices, for the first time that night, a flicker of doubt and uncertainty, and he wonders if he was stupid to not see it before, written so plainly in his face.

Irritation forgotten, Hajime tenderly grabs Oikawa’s hand - blood has soaked through the makeshift bandage of Hajime’s shirt. Oikawa winces when Hajime unties the cloth, leaving the wound exposed to the air, but not for long. Using what’s left of the roll of bandages, he swaddles the limb carefully, prying fingers eager to help. 

“I don’t know what the hell King was talking about, calling you useless. We both know that’s not true,” Hajime says, tearing the bandage and tucking the loose end. Oikawa worries his lip, looking at the wall, and Hajime will have none of it. He smooths the hair from Oikawa’s face, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead. 

Oikawa melts under the touch, wrapping his arms around Hajime’s neck, keeping him there. The next words are spoken into Oikawa’s skin, a secret meant only for him. “There’s nobody that I would rather have as my partner. If it were anybody else, Tooru, I wouldn’t be here. It’s you. Only you.”

He can’t see Oikawa’s face when he's like this - eyes closed, so close to Oikawa that he can smell his shampoo, but he feels the arms tighten around him, keeping him locked in place. Hajime wishes he could lay fully on Oikawa, feel how their bodies mold into each other, but not when he’s in such a sorry state. 

“Hajime,” Oikawa says, voice questioning. He hums his response, lips still pressed to Oikawa’s smooth skin. “It’s only you, too.”

And damn, if that doesn't make Hajime feel like the luckiest man in the world. 

He smiles into Oikawa, savoring the smell, the feel, the taste. If he ever moved from this spot, it would be too soon.

“Iwa-chan?”

“Yeah?”

“...You’re crushing me.”

**Author's Note:**

> and then oikawa got thrown off of the balcony.
> 
> as always, i love reading feedback, so a comment is always nice :)) i love these two idiots. forgive me if theyre ooc, ive never written them before.


End file.
